


the weight of living

by shxdcws



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Depressed Peter Parker, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Harm, Suicidal Peter Parker, Suicide, constrictive eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 19:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18999097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shxdcws/pseuds/shxdcws
Summary: Peter Parker wasn’t depressed. That’s what he told himself every night right before he cried himself to sleep. That’s what he told himself when he wouldn’t get out of bed for days on end. That’s what he told himself after he wouldn’t eat, or when he cut himself. Because Peter Parker doesn’t get depressed. So what if everyone who ever cared for him was dead? So what if the most important figure in his life had died and it was all his fault? So what if he was completely and utterly alone? Peter Parker was not depressed, and that’s all he needed to know.





	the weight of living

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE Trigger Warning for this story, a lot of stuff is talked about that can be very upsetting to people so please proceed with caution

Peter Parker wasn’t depressed. That’s what he told himself every night right before he cried himself to sleep. That’s what he told himself when he wouldn’t get out of bed for days on end. That’s what he told himself after he wouldn’t eat, or when he cut himself. Because Peter Parker doesn’t get depressed. So what if everyone who ever cared for him was dead? So what if the most important figure in his life had died and it was all his fault? So what if he was completely and utterly alone? Peter Parker was not depressed, and that’s all he needed to know.

 

Sometimes Peter liked to get up on the roof, and sit right on the edge. He didn’t use his powers much anymore, and the world had pretty much assumed spiderman had died. But on rare occasions, on nights like these, he liked to climb up the side of the tallest buildings in New York, and just sit. He’d dangle his feet off the edge, lean forward, imagine what it would feel like falling. But he never would make it all the way. He’d find himself a few hours later, climbing back down the building and returning to his crappy apartment. When May died, he moved in with Tony at the compound. And when Tony died, he couldn’t stay there any more. He got himself a ratty one bedroom back in Queens, and slipped out of the compound in the middle of the night. He hasn’t seen any of the avengers since. He doesn’t know what they’re up to lately, and frankly he doesn’t care. Sometimes he misses the bonds he had with each member, but he knew that ever going back would be too much to bear. He wouldn’t be able to handle being around happy people with functional lives. But not because he was depressed. Because Peter Parker wasn’t depressed.

 

Sometimes Peter felt so incredibly alone. It’d come from the smallest of things, like the never ceasing gnaw of his stomach reminding him that there was no one there to remind him that he hasn’t eaten in days. And Peter would find himself removing the protective cover from the little razor blade he kept in his pocket at all times. He’d tug up his sleeves, and drag it across his skin once, twice, again and again until he felt empty once more. Because empty was better than alone. But it didn’t matter how much he’d cut, because the scars would never stay. They’d be gone in 3 days tops, so Peter would have to keep on on top of them, as they served him a reminder. A reminder that no matter what he did, he’d still be alone. But Peter wasn’t depressed.

 

Sometimes Peter missed Tony so much it felt like he couldn't breathe. It was weird to think that the man he had only known for a few years became the most important person in his life. And he loved his parents and his aunt and uncle dearly, but Tony took him in when he had no one else. When he thought he was going to be all alone. He still remembers the first time he called him Dad, and he saw that gleam of pride in his eyes. He also remembers watching that gleam leave his eyes as Tony died in his arms. He remembers the pain like it was yesterday, because it has never gone away. It felt like someone had ripped out his soul, and Peter didn’t know if that wound would ever heal. And sometimes it hurt so bad that Peter couldn’t move. But Peter wasn’t depressed.

 

Sometimes Peter liked to take that old shoebox in the back of his closet out, and empty its contents. He’d look at the photos of his parents, of Aunt May and Uncle Ben, and of Tony Stark, and he’d hold the box’s contents in his hands. He’d feel the pain of losing them all at once, so raw and powerful like a punch in the face, and he’d pick up his old journal. The pages were creased and bent from traveling everywhere with him, and Peter would find a clean page in the back and start writing. He’d write to everyone he’d ever hurt, to everyone that ever hurt him, to whoever he felt would listen. And Peter would tear out those pages, and fold them up, nice and neat, and place them next to him. Then he’d glance at the the contents of the old shoebox that have made their way into his hands again. And he would close his eyes, feeling content, only to find himself opening them again a few hours later. He’d discard of the notes, pack the shoebox back up, and place it back in the closet. But Peter wasn’t depressed.

 

Today was different though. Peter took that old box out of the closet and sat down on the floor. He spread the photos out around him carefully, first the ones of his parents, then Aunt May and Uncle Ben, and finally all his photos of Tony. He had the most of those. He used to feel guilty of caring for Tony more than his parents, or May and Ben, but he learned to accept it. He still felt horrible about it, but Tony was the most important person in his life. He cared for him when no one else would, and he misses him every single day. Peter reached for his old journal, and decided to write to Tony. He wrote of his favorite memories with him, like when Tony took him to his old home, and told him stories about his mother. He wrote of his favorite times fighting side by side with him, like when they took down the biggest weapons dealer in New York together. And he wrote of how he hated himself for letting Tony die, and how he wished every single day that it had been him instead of Tony. And Peter carefully tore out those pages, and folded them up, and placed them around him on the floor. And he picked up the contents of the box, and felt an overwhelming sense of peace fill the hole in his chest. He closed his eyes and looked towards the sky. He knew for the first time in a long time that what he was doing was right. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

 

“Tony, I’m coming home”

 

And Peter Parker pulled the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is a complete 180 from my other fic i'm working on, i just needed to express the big sad, and then my writing got really intense, and now this exists. sorry if it was a little bit too much for anyone, my writing is not normally focused on stuff like this at all.


End file.
